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Can your lady patch hearts that are breaking, Bending beneath her load again, With handfuls of coals and rice,

A weary sight to see ;
Or by dealing out flannel and sheeting

Right sorely sighed the poor fish-wife,
A little below cost price ?

* They're dear fish to me!
You may tire of the jail and the workhouse, “Our boat was oot ae fearfu' night,
And take to allotments and schools,

And when the storm blew o'er,
But you 've run up a debt that will never My husband, and my three brave sons,
Be repaid us by penny-club rules.

Lay corpses on the shore. “In the season of shame and sadness,

“I've been a wife for thirty years, In the dark and dreary day,

A childless widow three ;
When scrofula, gout, and madness

I maun buy them now to sell again,
Are eating your race away ;

They're dear fish to me!” "When to kennels and liveried varlets

The farmer's wife turned to the door,-
You have cast your daughters' bread,

What was 't upon her cheek?
And, worn out with liquor and harlots,

What was there rising in her breast,
Your heir at your feet lies dead ;

That then she scarce could speak? “When your youngest, the mealy - mouthed

She thought upon her ain guidman,

Her lightsome laddies three; rector,

The woman's words had pierced her heart, – Lets your soul rot asleep to the grave, You will find in your God the protector

“They're dear fish to me!” Of the freeman you fancied your slave.” “Come back," she cried, with quivering voice,

And pity's gathering tear ; She looked at the tuft of clover,

Come in, come in, my poor woman,
And wept till her heart grew light;

Ye're kindly welcome here.
And at last, when her passion was over,
Went wandering into the night.

“I kentna o' your aching heart,

Your weary lot to dree ;
But the merry brown hares came leaping

I'll ne'er forget your sad, sad words :
Over the uplands still,

• They're dear fish to me!'”
Where the clover and corn lay sleeping
On the side of the white chalk hill.

Ay, let the happy-hearted learn

To pause ere they deny
The meed of honest toil, and think

How much their gold may buy,
“THEY 'RE DEAR FISH TO ME."

How much of manhood's wasted strength,

What woman's misery,
The farmer's wife sat at the door,
A pleasant sight to see ;

What breaking hearts might swell the cry:
And blithesome were the wee, wee bairns

They're dear fish to me!" That played around her knee.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

ANONYMOUS.

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But who down the hillside than red deer runs

I 'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, fleeter?

I'll sell my only spinning-wheel,
And who on the lake side is hastening to greet her?

To buy for my love a sword of steel,
Who but Fergus O'Farrell, the fiery and gay, Is go de tu mo murnin slàn.
The darling and pride of the Flower of Finae.

I'll dye my petticoats, — dye them red, One kiss and one clasp, and one wild look of glad

And round the world I 'll beg my bread, ness ;

Until my parents shall wish me dead,
Ah ! why do they change on a sudden to sadness, –

Is go de tu mo murnin slàn.
He has told his hard fortune, nor more he can stay,
He must leave his poor Eily to pine at Finae.

I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,

I wish I had my heart again,
For Fergus O'Farrell was true to his sire-land,

And vainly think I'd not complain,
And the dark hand of tyranny drove him from
Ireland ;

Is go de tu mo murnin slùn.
He joins the Brigade, in the wars far away,

But now my love has gone to France, But he vows he'll come back to the Flowerof Finae.

To try his fortune to advance, He fought at Cremona, she hears of his story ;

If he e'er come back 't is but a chance, He fought at Cassano, - she's proud of his glory,

Is go de tu mo murnin slàn.

ANONYMOUS Yet sadly she sings "Shule Aroon ” all the day, O, come, come, my darling, come home to Finae." Eight long years have passed, till she's nigh

THE MAID'S LAMENT. broken-hearted, Her reel, and her rock, and her flax she has I loved him not ; and yet, now he is gone, parted ;

I feel I am alone. She sails with the “Wild Geese" to Flanders away, I checked him whilehe spoke ; yet could he speak, And leaves her sad parents alone in Finae.

Alas ! I would not check.

66

may

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

The second he slowly put back the shroud,
And kissed her upon her mouth so pale :
“Thee loved I always ; I love still but thee;
And thee will I love through eternity !”.
YE banks and braes and streams around

For reasons not to love him once I sought, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
And wearied all my thought

Your waters never drumlie! To vex myself and him : I now would give

There simmer first unfauld her robes, My love, could he but live

And there the langest tarry ; Who lately lived for me, and when he found For there I took the last fareweel 'T was vain, in holy ground

O my sweet Highland Mary. He hid his face amid the shades of death !

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, I waste for him

my
breath

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns,
And this lone bosom burns

As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasped her to my bosom!
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep,
And waking me to weep

The golden hours on angel wings

Flew o'er me and my dearie ;
Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years
Wept he as bitter tears !

For dear to me as light and life
Merciful God !” such was his latest prayer,

Was my sweet Highland Mary. “These she never share !"

Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold

Our parting was fu' tender ; Than daisies in the mould,

And pledging aft to meet again, Where children spell athwart the churchyard gate

We tore oursels asunder ; His name and life's brief date.

But, O, fell death's untimely frost, Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be,

That nipt my flower sae early ! And O, pray, too, for me !

Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary !
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kissed sae fondly !
THE LANDLADY'S DAUGHTER.

And closed for aye the sparkling glance

That dwelt on me sae kindly ; Three students were travelling over the Rhine ;

And mouldering now in silent dust They stopped when they came to the landlady's That heart that lo'ed me dearly !

But still within my bosom's core “Good landlady, have you good beer and wine ? Shall live my Highland Mary. And where is that dear little daughter of thine?” “My beer and wine are fresh and clear ; My daughter she lies on the cold death-bier !” And when to the chamber they made their way,

THY BRAES WERE BONNY. There, dead, in a coal-black shrine, she lay.

Tuy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream ! The first he drew near, and the veil gently raised,

When first on them I met my lover; And on her pale face he mournfully gazed :

Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream ! 'Ah! wert thou but living yet,” he said,

When now thy waves his body cover. “I'd love thee from this time forth, fair maid!” Forever now,

O Yarrow stream !

Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; And turned him away and wept aloud :

For never on thy banks shall I "Ah! that thon liest in the cold death-bier !

Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow. Alas ! I have loved thee for many a year!"

He promised me a milk-white steed,
The third he once more uplifted the veil,

To bear me to his father's bowers;
He promised me a little page,

To 'squire me to his father's towers;

He promised me a wedding-ring,
UHLAND. Translation of J. S. DWIGHT.

The wedding-day was fixed to-morrow;
Now he is wedded to his grave,

Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow !

Sweet were his words when last we met; HIGHLAND MARY.

My passion I as freely told him !

Clasped in his arms, I little thought
The castle o' Montgomery,

That I should nevermore behold him !

sign ;

ROBERT BURNS.

Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ;

It vanished with a shriek of sorrow; Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,

And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. His mother from the window looked

With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walked

The greenwood path to meet her brother. They sought him east, they sought him west,

They sought him all the forest thorough ; They only saw the cloud of night,

They only heard the roar of Yarrow !

" But Willie 's gone, whom I thought on,

And does not hear me weeping ; Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e

When other maids are sleeping. “Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,

The night I'll mak' it narrow, For a' the livelang winter night

I lie twined o' my marrow.
0, came ye by yon water-side ?

Pou'd you the rose or lily ?
Or came you by yon meadow green,

Or saw you my sweet Willie ?”
She sought him up, she sought him down,

She sought him braid and narrow; Syne, in the cleaving of a craig,

She found him drowned in Yarrow!

No longer from thy window look,

Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! No longer walk, thou lovely maid ;

Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! No longer seek him east or west,

And search no more the forest thorough ; For, wandering in the night so dark,

He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

ANONYMOUS.

MARY'S DREAM.

The tear shall never leave my cheek,

No other youth shall be my marrow; I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow.

JOHN LOGAN.

Tue moon had climbed the highest hill

Which rises o'er the source of Dee, And from the eastern summit shed

Her silver light on tower and tree, When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea, When, soft and slow, a voice was heard,

Saying, “Mary, weep no more for me!"

WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW. Down in yon garden sweet and gay

Where bonnie grows the lily, I heard a fair maid sighing say,

“My wish be wi' sweet Willie!

“Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,

And Willie's wondrous bonny; And Willie hecht to marry me

Gin e'er he married ony.

“O gentle wind, that bloweth south,

From where my Love repaireth, Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth

And tell me how he fareth !

0, tell sweet Willie to come doun

And hear the mavis singing, And see the birds on ilka bush

And leaves around them hinging.

She from her pillow gently raised

Her head, to ask who there might be, And saw young Sandy shivering stand,

With visage pale, and hollow e'e. “O Mary dear, cold is my clay ;

It lies beneath a stormy sea.
Far, far from thee I sleep in death ;

So, Mary, weep no more for me !
“Three stormy nights and stormy days

We tossed upon the raging main ; And long we strove our bark to save,

But all our striving was in vain. Even then, when horror chilled my blood,

My heart was filled with love for thee: The storm is past, and I at rest;

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! "O maiden dear, thyself prepare ;

We soon shall meet upon that shore, Where love is free from doubt and care,

And thou and I shall part no more !" Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled,

No more of Sandy could she see; But soft the passing spirit saiil, “Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"

JOHN LOWE

“ The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast

And gentle throat sae narrow; There's sport enench for gentlemen

On Leader haughs and Yarrow. “O, Leader haughs are wide and braid,

And Yarrow haughs are bonny ; There Willie hecht to marry me

If e'er he married ony.

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